A Walk In The Woods by James
When you’re a bounty hunter, and you have a bounty on your head, finding a quiet moment of consideration is often a little harder than it may seem. The inviting plants and foliage on Deepcrest Island draw the occasional traveller in, attempting to escape to some form of peace, perhaps? Rillitan walks through the growing vines, getting more and more annoyed at the small insect floating about his head with the intent of eating into him. He stops and turns, bringing a hand out to thwap it out of the air but he misses, trying again – he misses. “Damnit, you little pest!” the Timonae curses loudly as he attempts another swipe again. Suddenly, with a thunderous outburst that leaves a scattering of birds flying off in all directions, a bright red shot soars through the green environment before cutting through the soft bark only a short distance from Rillitan’s face. The towering humanoid stops dead, air still hot from the trail of an energy shot. A moment of inaction follows as the wildlife in the area suddenly falls eerily quiet as if to anticipate the new threat against Rillitan. He jumps to the side, pushing himself flat against a tree, as if it would help with his size and attire. One glance across to the still burning trunk across from him shows a white spot, a broad hole that has burnt straight through the greeny-pearl membrane. Slowly the surroundings regain their life once more; a bird returns carefully in the fuzzy foliage above and begins to sing quietly. Rillitan looks up through the murky fog to give it a sharp glare. As if it would help. His hand raises behind his back, pulling his own assault rifle off of his shoulder rest. “Black on green, Timonae! Not exactly hidden amongst the bushes there, are ve? I could paint zat tree pink right now if I so wanted to!” A gruff, accented shout comes from Rillitan’s left… No… His right? “Throw the gun forward, throw it well, too.” Rillitan has a futile glance around the tree, looking for some sign of the hunter, no target, no luck. He sneers, scarred face pulling across into a manipulated smile, bearing his teeth in frustration. His gun lands a number of meters away from his feet and he crosses his arms. “Presuming your brains would be pink, that is. I would not know. I haff never killed one of your race before.” The shouting bounces around the trees once again, the voice sounding significantly pleased with himself. “I should like to though.” The man considers, “So I would advise you to step out from behind that tree and put your arms onto the back of your head.” “Waldheimer?” Rillitan queries to himself, trying to distinguish the accent, it was close to Ungstiri, but ‘da’ hadn’t been voiced yet. He shakes his head, thinking furiously as he tries to come up with a plan, and idea. Something to do. “You’re a lucky man, Ryoleli, I’d very much like that extra cash you’re life seems to deserve. Move now, or you are dead. There is a prize for each one, and I am not in the mood to play about.” Rillitan steps out from his spot, hands rising smoothly to rest on top of his head, a very low growl is given to the now emerging form holding a rifle. He looks down to him, opening his mouth to speak before getting the hot, threatening barrel thrust upwards towards his face. He leans back slightly, clearing his throat before giving the other hunter a blunt look. “I’m Trusk.” Comes the reply to Rillitan’s expression, the human looking severe – almost trying to make up for the fact that he’s a third shorter than the other humanoid. A full set of green Kevlar, overlain with flak jacket, overlain with another stretch of camouflage netting. The human wears a helmet and a length of material is wrapped around his lower face, forming an ad-lib scarf. “I’ve not heard of you.” Rillitan says with a raised eyebrow, much to the apparent annoyance of the Waldheimer, who snarls and reaffirms his aim with a clunky weight shift. “I’m new at this.” Trusk states sharply, “But I thought I’d go for something challenging. All the other bounties have been pathetic… begging for mercy… You, no, you I thought would be a worthy opponent. It appears I vas wrong. Mm?” Rillitan ignores the comment, looking down at the displayed gear, a couple of grenades, no other guns though, that fixes itself in his mind. He nods, “I’ll give you respect, ‘Trusk’, tracking me here that quickly is impressive” Rillitan grunts, attempting to liven the mood perhaps. Nothing about it seems genuine. “Not really, you see ‘my friend’ did most of the tracking.” The human explains, “We uh… We’ve been watching you a while, Timonae, followed you all the way here from Demaria. Vas just a case of keeping close and waiting for the right moment, and ve did that well. Don’t you remember that wonderful conversation we had? On the cargo shuttle?” The human pulls down the scarf around his mouth, giving the greatly taller Timonae a chance to read his full face. Rillitan looks carefully at the other mans thin, rather blunt lips. At first he frowns in thought, “You.” He nods, “Yes I remember, you were one of the two brothers. Going on a bloody fishing trip… You even had the right clothes, hats… All that trouble.” He grunts at the appreciation of his muted humour, “Nice touch there.” “Oh sure. Great idea. Almost gave us away completely before we even drew out a weapon. No… No. That was his idea. And he had too many of those ideas.” Trusk states darkly. “Had?” Rillitan queries, picking up on some further engraved meaning. The other hunter responds with a sharp look, getting annoyed at having to explain things, “Yes. Work it out, Ryoleli; you travel the same path I do. Who likes to share?” He pulls out a wry grin, bearing his grey, lifeless gums in an unappealing manner. The calm, hard features of the Timonae remain still, he plucks a sentence out of the air elegantly and even his accent seems to change, “When was this about what people like?” “Don’t try to be moralistic to me. I know why this bounty was placed on your head, and I know about the things you’ve done. Much worse things than anything I boast on my conscious. 40 people, Timonae, that’s a record for my reserve.” Rillitan lets a deep, dangerous growl pulsate through the air, eyes narrowing to heated slits as he speaks quietly. “Then I imagine it’s time we brought this to a close.” “Quite.” Comes the simple answer. The Timonae jolts his head forward in a nod, before pulling a questioning expression, “Might I alert you to the mistake you’ve made?” The human grins smugly, satisfied in his own ability, there was nothing that could go wrong. “Go ahead.” He says, squarely. “You’re using a modded BKMS 530 Rifle, I can see you’ve changed the trigger mechanism to make it smaller and easier to use, and it looks like you filed down one half of the pit rest and taken off the pod.” He pulls his mouth flat in an expression that suggests he’s unimpressed, “Plain old aesthetic changes, really – you still haven’t added to the lock snap on the firing mechanism, so you’re going to have one shot at me now before I break your neck.” A hint of insecurity breaks the smug expression. Trusk pulls his lips taut and bright red, breaking the predetermined rules on how features should behave. His face flushes and he chooses a fierce look to counter this display of acute knowledge, “I’ll shoot you before you can move.” He threatens. “You’re aiming at my head, human, you haven’t really been paying attention to what my feet are doing, have you?” Now it is Rillitan’s turn to be smug, the truth or a good bluff? He looked unworried either way, mirroring the human’s attitude up to this point. More and more, the human looks less and less sure of himself, but his eyes retain firmly on Rillitan’s face. It was, however, hard to keep an eye on the whole of his quarry. He growls and takes a step back now trying get a better view of the Timonae, a little more sure of his plan. A flicker, his concentration was veering, he tries a quick glance down. Too fast to see what the Timonae was talking about. He sneers and takes another step back; he wasn’t going to take any chances. Rillitan pulls out a wide, secure smile. The hunter begins to take another step back, but his path is interfered by a tree, something he didn’t expect, letting out a small breath of air as he backs into the solid bark. Now was the chance to turn the tables, and Rillitan takes it without hesitation, darting forward to seize the moment of confusion. The human was not, however, left especially dazed, he had time enough to realise what was happening, time enough to pull a trigger. The pounding glare of an energy bolt fires out from the muzzle of Trusk’s rifle, soaring through the air and half blinding the Timonae with it’s fiery red flush as it wings past his head, skimming his ear only to become the next near-death encounter to re-tell to whoever listened. Himself, most likely. The Timonae’s hand arcs sideways, a flat palm punching the smooth metal on the side of the human’s rifle. It is hoisted out of its owner’s unanticipating hands before spinning through the air in a wide trajectory and smashing against the unyielding bark of one of the trees. The barrel was not designed to take such abuse, it seems, snapping to an angle as it bounces away to hit a second tree. Another blow takes the modified sighting lens splintering against the cold floor. Rillitan spins, bringing a blunt punch up into Trusk’s upper shoulder, a sickening snap echoing around the forest as his collar gives into the pressure, breaking into two halves against the base of Trusk’s neck. The Timonae’s other hand jumps downwards and grabs the Waldheimian’s flailing wrist before spinning his hand forward. The pain, coupled with the human’s distinct lack of exceptional strength, leaves his arm spinning to a useless angle, stretching taught. Rillitan brings a knee diagonally up, thrusting Trusk in the ribcage with a dull thud and grunt combination. A little weight distribution and the larger humanoid uses his leg to force Trusk back into the tree again. Once he has the human half-pinned, he swings his hand up to his shoulder, his biceps tensing with developed strength. Using the point of his elbow to hook behind the human’s head, Rillitan twists and pulls Trusk back across his knee. The human is flung over, somersaulting in mid air with the force of the blow before suddenly twisting and jerking sideways where the arm still attached to Rillitan reaches its limit of elasticity. There’s another crunch as he lands, arm suddenly going disturbingly limp. He lolls on the floor for a moment, remaining still. The martial artist lets go of the wrist and it crumples to the floor, he looks up and around, checking for anyone who might have been watching – as likely as that is. He sneers, looking back down to Trusk, who begins to whimper in pain. He steps across him, leaving quickly and without a word. Category:OtherSpace Stories